


Heart Beat

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Deaf Character, M/M, Magic, this is a got damn mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: Patrick loves music, and all he’s ever wanted is to hear it.





	Heart Beat

**Author's Note:**

> ok first things first jsyk: I used to be pansexualpancakes, and a user change was ... necessary. im a whole big lesbian babey
> 
> secondly what the hell is this? do I know? absolutely not! enjoy!

Patrick loves music.

He loves the rhythm, the patterns, the feelings, the way he watches it cause emotion in the people around him, the way it makes them happy or sad or angry or any other emotion that he can possibly imagine. He loves how people can vary eternally in taste but can always unite again on the fact that they love music. And Patrick is no exception - he _loves_ music.

But he’s never heard a note of it.

Patrick is deaf. Has been forever; the way he sees it, it sucks that he couldn’t have even gotten the bonus of a tragic backstory. The most he’s got is the fact his parents didn’t even realize until he was three, because there are so many more interesting explanations for a quiet child. But no, Patrick is deaf, always has been, always will be, and that’s all there is to it.

But he still knows music. He knows it through watching street musicians and throwing a dollar into their case every time, even though he can’t tell what they’re playing. He knows it through those emotions it gives people, how he sees his friends and even complete strangers get sucked into another world that he’ll never experience. He knows it through the time he went to a concert, once, and even though he’d never heard of the band, and never heard the music that was played, he felt the beat of the crowd and he could act along like he was listening even if he wasn’t, just because everyone was so happy and pulsing and _together_.

In a case of absolute irony, Patrick has mostly ended up befriending musicians as well. In fact, his three closest friends-slash-roommates are in a “band” together - band in sarcastic quotations, as they’ve never done much but play a couple covers together in the living room and then complain to Patrick about how they never get anything done. But Patrick is fine with it, because they understand he’s in and out of work and don’t make him pay rent, and they joke about how Patrick is the perfect roommate, because he’ll never have to hear how shit they sound.

If he’s honest, Patrick couldn’t care less how his friends sound, he just wishes he could hear them, because if that was all the music he was allowed, if he could just hear a minute of his roommates horribly covering a song that, of course, he’d never heard before, he’d still take that chance in an instant.

Patrick loves music, and all he’s ever wanted is to hear it.

He’s never said that to anyone, really, even though he’s alluded to having some sort of interest. His roommates have always tried to help. Andy’s a drummer, and he lets Patrick watch him play a lot. Patrick has no clue what a drum sounds like, but he likes to pretend he does, and every time Andy strikes part of the drum set Patrick pretends he hears some sort of noise. He can’t really imagine a noise - that would be like asking a blind person to imagine a color, Patrick can’t imagine something he’s never even gotten a sample of, but he tries anyway, and in the end he just ends up picturing a flash of light each time a drumstick hits. He figures it must have about the same effect. Pete’s not a musician by nature, which Patrick learns not from Pete but from the others complaining about him, but he still shows Patrick his writing, and taps a beat along to it, which Patrick tries to imagine he hears as he reads. He figures it’s as close as he’ll ever come.

Pete and Andy try, and they do well enough, considering the monumental task at hand, but no one’s ever gotten as close to making Patrick hear music as Joe.

Joe doesn’t try to make Patrick hear a beat or notes or words - he knows that will never happen. Instead, the two often stay up all night as Joe tells Patrick what music _feels_ like.

All Patrick’s roommates learned ASL for him, but Joe picked it up far quicker than the other two, and as a result is still the most fluent, so he uses that skill to give Patrick the deepest description of music possible.

He tells Patrick how it feels when a chord progression resolves, and your chest settles back down again in relief. He tells Patrick how seven chords feel, to him, like an echo, then when he realizes Patrick has never heard an echo (Patrick doesn’t interrupt to say that he still knows what an echo _is_ ), he calls them “enriched,” and compares them to chocolate mousse, which Patrick thinks is weird, but he still understands. Joe tells Patrick how you can feel a strong, steady beat in your chest, how it rocks your body and soul so hard you can barely focus on the rest of the song, yet you can still feel the rest just as strongly. He tells Patrick that the words are only half of it, that he thinks all poetry is better in musical form, because, as he repeats most nights, music gives words _direction_. 

That’s Patrick’s favorite thing Joe says, because it makes so much sense, even if he’s never heard an example of it. Patrick has words. He wants to give them direction, too. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

It’s a cold Wednesday night, after this sentiment is repeated again, that Patrick is finally honest about how deeply he really feels.

Joe repeats his belief about direction, hands flashing at lightning speed. (Patrick is so thankful for how quick Joe’s gotten at signing - Pete and Andy are good enough, but they’re much slower, and sometimes trying to talk to them is excruciating.) Patrick almost just lets the strong feelings it gives him go again, but also…he can’t.

_I want to hear the direction_ , he replies, his hands shaking lightly, but it’s just nerves, and not enough to make him unintelligible.

Joe smiles softly. _I know_. 

But he doesn’t know, he can’t, because while everyone knows Patrick wants to hear music, they don’t know how important it is, how every day he wakes up crushed all over again by the worst realization of his life - not even that he’s deaf, just that he’ll never know music.

And finally, at 11:41 pm, seated on the ratty quilt on his bed, a gift from a grandma so long ago, Patrick says, _No. You don’t know_.

Joe doesn’t bother to sign a response - his mouth drops into a frown and he raises an eyebrow and that’s response enough. 

Patrick is starting to shake a little more, he’s scared, he isn’t sure if he should go on. But he takes a deep breath and he does.

_I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I want music._

Joe doesn’t even try to reply. He looks a little stricken, certainly more than you’d expect as a reaction to what Patrick had said. But Patrick understands. 

And he continues.

_It hurts_ , he tells Joe, _to think I’ll never hear what you all love so much. I see people so moved by music every day, and all I’ve ever wanted is to know why. I love your descriptions, I always have, but they’re not the same as really hearing. They never will be._ Patrick pauses briefly, and Joe looks ready to respond, but Patrick doesn’t let him. _No, I’m not done_ , he interrupts. _You all try so hard, and I love you for it, but it’s not the same and you know it. Watching Andy drum means nothing if I can’t hear it. Pete’s words are pointless without a melody. You said it yourself, they have no direction. Nothing does. All I want is that direction. It’s all I’ve ever wanted._

For a moment, they’re both still, waiting for the other to move first, and then, in a flash, Joe signs, _I’m sorry._

Patrick wants to cry, because he knows he’s just completely unloaded and he knows there’s nothing better Joe could say, but it still feels not enough. Everything feels not enough.

_Don’t be_ , Patrick finally replies. _There’s nothing you could do._

Another moment of absolutely nothing passes, and Patrick worries he’s ruined the conversation entirely but then Joe sighs - which Patrick knows only because he’s learned to associate sighing with the gentle heave and then deflation of the body - and responds. 

_Patrick_ , he says, his hands trembling a little as he signs, _I know I can’t do anything. But if I could, I would. You know that, right? I would do absolutely anything to give you music. Anything at all._

For a long minute, they are still. Patrick isn’t sure how to respond. Joe doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Finally, Joe simply signs, _Goodnight, Patrick._

He gets up to leave, but not awkwardly, so Patrick hopes that they didn’t leave off on a bad note after all. Joe crosses the room easily, then hovers in Patrick’s doorway. He turns around slowly, like he’s expecting a response.

Patrick gives him one, but probably not the one he thought he’d get.

_Anything?_

Joe smiles softly. _Anything_ , he answers. _I promise._

//

Patrick dreams that night.

It’s not an unusual occurrence in itself, but it’s the content of the dream that seems odd. He’s on a windswept, grassy hill, watching weeds and reeds alike sway to and fro, and in front of him is Joe. The sun sets behind him, but it also rises. And Joe is speaking.

Patrick doesn’t hear it - of course he doesn’t - but somehow he still knows what Joe is saying, even though he’s never gotten the hang of reading lips. It echoes eternally through his head, soundless and persistent.

_Anything. I promise._ Over and over and over again until the world swells up beneath them and everything goes black.

//

The first sound Patrick hears is birds.

He has no clue it’s birds; he couldn’t, he’s got nothing to compare the sound to. He doesn’t even realize it’s a sound at first, just thinks of it as something _new_ , until he wakes up enough to realize that it’s… noise. 

It’s odd, really, because he’s never heard a sound before, but he still knows that’s what it is, somehow. He can’t describe it, as there’s nothing he can hold it up to, still no comparison to make, he isn’t sure if this sound is relatively high or low pitched, if compared to others it’s loud or quiet, but fuck, he doesn’t care, it’s a sound and he’s _hearing it._

Patrick springs up in his bed, tossing his worn quilt off and rushing towards the sound, which is hard because he has no experience locating the source of a noise, having heard none before, but he finds it easily enough. In the flower box outside his window, a baby robin and its mother are sitting, chirping to each other.

And Patrick hears it.

He hears it, and he cries, which is another new sound, and so is the rush of the cars in the street, and the wind gently rustling leaves, and the sound of people strolling past on the sidewalk, and sure, it takes Patrick a couple minutes to _identify_ each of these sounds, but fuck, it doesn’t matter, he can fucking hear them!

It takes Patrick a couple minutes to adjust, and he can’t say he’s fully adjusted, not in the least, because he still can’t believe he’s standing here and _listening to things_ , hearing the sounds that go with things he’s only ever _seen_ , but he manages to stop crying, and takes a step back from the window, leaving the happily chirping birds sitting among the flowers. The old wood floor creaks under his weight. The sound is music to his ears.

And oh. Oh. _Music._

Patrick is rushing out of his room in an instant, because the first thing that comes to mind is _his roommates have music_ , and he can have music, he can have music, _he can have music._

Patrick registers every new sound - his bare feet slamming against the floor, the screech as he turns a corner too fast, the sound of conversation in the dining room. Patrick doesn’t know who it is, seeing as he can’t match the brand new voices to anyone yet, but when he turns the corner he finds Andy and Pete.

Voices, Patrick decides, are his favorite thing yet. And Andy and Pete have such _different_ ones, it’s amazing, Patrick didn’t realize people sounded so different, didn’t realize people could sound so _interesting_ , even when they’re just complaining about not getting to pet a dog at the park the other day. (Which is apparently the conversation topic Pete has chosen.)

Pete and Andy fall silent when they hear Patrick come in, and turn to look at him in surprise. Patrick realizes he must look shocked, but it’s only fair. He _is_ shocked. Everything is new and wonderful and it’s too much, but it’s too much in the best way possible.

Pete looks confused for a minute, then hesitates a second before his hands go up and he signs - slowly and carefully - _are you okay?_

Patrick is beaming now, because he’s never been so okay in his life, so _more_ than okay, and even the realization that he still hasn’t learned to speak, and that ability didn’t magically come with hearing, can’t stop him.

_You don’t need to sign_ , he signs, finding it a bit ironic.

Pete and Andy are silent for a moment, before Andy slowly raises his hands, ignoring what Patrick has told him, and asks, _Seriously, are you alright?You don’t need to sign_ , Patrick repeats, more vehemently this time, then adds as an afterthought, _Talk to me. Please._

Pete looks dumbfounded, but lowers his hands as he speaks slowly, hesitantly, “Patrick…you can’t hear.”

There are tears in Patrick’s eyes again, because hearing Pete’s voice, Pete’s voice _meant for him_ , is just so much, and he’s shaking to the point he’s not sure it will be understood as he replies, _Yes. I can._

Pete and Andy look confused, and they both fall silent, and even then Patrick can hear the wind blowing and the fridge whirring and still those birds, chirping outside his window, and he understands suddenly that nothing is ever silent, that never again will he have to hear nothing. He will always have something to hear.

Patrick is grinning through tears of joy as his shaking hands continue, _I can hear you guys. I can hear._

Pete’s mouth is gaping as he blurts out, “What? Wh - how?”

_I don’t know_ , Patrick answers, _but I can, I woke up today and I heard birds, I heard them, and I can hear everything but I don’t know why._

“That’s,” Andy says, eyes wide, “that’s not possible.”

_But I can_ , Patrick insists, _I can hear everything and all of it and I heard birds and I heard cars and I heard wind and I heard your voices, and I didn’t know people had different voices, and I can-_

He cuts off here, because he’s shaking so bad he’s certain no one would understand it if he continues, he can’t make himself say the best part, he can’t make his hands form the words _have music._

But Pete and Andy understand anyway. Pete’s hand is going for his phone and Andy is reaching for his drumsticks where they’re haphazardly hanging off the edge of the counter when Patrick slams a fist on the table, since he can’t exactly yell, and Pete and Andy’s heads whip back to Patrick in shock.

_I’m sorry_ , Patrick signs quickly, keeping his hands from shaking as best he can, _but if it’s okay, I think there’s someone else I want to show me for the first time._

Andy smiles knowingly, and Pete nods and pulls his hand back.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, sure. He’s still in bed. I’m sure he’d love to.”

Patrick nods, takes a deep breath, and turns back to the hallway.

//

Joe’s room is dark when Patrick gets there. A few slivers of light shine through the closed blinds, giving the darkness an oddly warm hue. Joe is still laying in bed, turned away from Patrick. He doesn’t roll over when Patrick steps inside and the weak floorboards whine in protest. (This is the first sound that Patrick decides he doesn’t completely love, but that’s not to say it doesn’t excite him nonetheless.) Joe, Patrick thinks, is probably still asleep. 

Patrick steps further in, reaches forward, and taps Joe’s shoulder lightly. Joe isn’t asleep. He tenses up at the touch, flipping over and relaxing just as suddenly when he recognizes Patrick standing over him. His hands move shakily in front of him.

_Hey_ , he says, _good morning._

Something in Joe’s face is wrong. His lips are pulled too tightly together and his eyes are damp and red but his hands are still poised and ready to talk to Patrick like everything is okay. 

_Joe_ , Patrick signs, trying to ignore the fact that something’s off because he’s just so excited to tell Joe about this, _Joe, you don’t need to sign._

Joe is still staring up at him, confused. He doesn’t look like he’s understanding. Slowly, he pushes himself up in bed, and then, once he’s upright, he starts to respond. He gets as far as _I_ before he shakes his head and tries something different. _You can’t hear me talk._

_No, no no!_ Patrick shakes his head, and he’s starting to get excited, starting to smile again, even though Joe still looks so - so _shaken_. _No, I can hear you talk! I can!_

Joe’s face gets weirder. His lips pull down into something that isn’t quite a frown, his eyes widen, he looks like something’s dawned on him, and it’s nothing good.

_Joe_ , Patrick signs, _Joe, Joe, I can hear, everything is okay, don’t look like that, what’s wrong?_

Joe’s eyes aren’t wide anymore. They’re squinty and filling with fresh tears. One trails down his cheek. The choking sounds he’s making aren’t nearly as good to hear as Patrick’s own happy tears earlier. In fact, they aren’t good to hear at all. For the first time, Patrick learns that he can hate a sound. He can hate a sound with a passion.

Joe’s hands float anxiously up, and he signs two words. _I can’t._

_Can’t?_ Patrick asks. _Can’t what? Are you okay?_

Joe’s hands are moving jerkily, all weird and wrong, and it takes three tries before Patrick understands him. When he does, his chest fails and his heart breaks and everything makes sense in the worst way possible.

_Patrick_ , Joe signs, shuddering through his horrible, horrible sounding tears, _I can’t hear._

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not 100% sure this will update but it’s definitely more likely to if people like it!! :D
> 
> so I really appreciate kudos and comments, thank you!
> 
> thanks for reading xoxo


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